Chapter 28 Chapter Twenty-eight Poirot as a Squirrel

Poirot left the hotel three quarters of an hour early for dinner.The car did not go straight to Monte Carlo, but to Ms. Templin's villa.Reynolds welcomed him in the living room. "Caterina is changing," she said. "Do you want me to report? Or are you waiting here for her to come downstairs?" "No," said Poirot, after a moment's consideration, "it is better not to wait. I have some news to tell her, but unfortunately it is not good news." Reynolds waited respectfully for him to speak. "Mr Kettering will be arrested tonight on charges of assassinating his own wife."

"Should I tell Caterina about this?" Reynolds asked.She panted, a little short of breath. "Please tell her." "Don't you think this news will dampen Caterina's emotions? She has already favored Mr. Kaitlin, don't you think so?" "I don't know. Generally speaking, I know everything, but there are exceptions to every rule. You may judge better." "Yes," Reynolds said, "I know, but I won't tell you." She fell silent, her black eyebrows furrowed together. Suddenly she asked again: "Do you believe that he did it?"

Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "The police believe he committed the crime. The gentlemen may have found a motive in him. The death of his wife did get him a good deal of money." "He inherited two million pounds." "But if Mrs. Kettering lived, he'd be completely bankrupt." "Completely correct." "But that alone is a condition of non-prosecution. Of course, he took the same train again. But what does that mean?" "There is a cigarette case with the letter K. It does not belong to Ms. Kettering, but was found in her box. Besides, there are two witnesses who saw him when the train was approaching Lyon. Into the lady's box."

"Who are these two witnesses?" "Your girlfriend, Miss Gray, and the dancing girl, Miret." "Just when the train was approaching Lyon? But no one knows when she died." "Of course the doctor cannot tell the exact time," said Poirot. "Their opinion is that the death did not occur when the train stopped at Lyon. We also believe that Mrs. Kettering died shortly after the train left Gare de Lyon in Paris." "How do you know?" Poirot smiled self-confidently. "Someone entered her box and found her dead." "But why not pull the distress signal valve?"

"No pull." "Why not pull?" "Of course he has his reasons." Reynolds stared at him intently. "Do you know the reasons?" "I believe I know." Reynolds tried to make sense of what he had just heard.Poirot looked at her in silence.At last she looked up, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining brightly. "You always think that the murderer was a passenger on the train. But no one can prove it. How do you know that when the train stops at Lyon, no one will steal into the train and go straight to her compartment and kill her?" Strangled, took the gem, then jumped out of the car without anyone knowing, strangled her, took the gem, then jumped out of the car without anyone knowing? When the train stopped in Lyon She might have been killed. If not, she was alive when Derek walked into her box, and she was dead when someone found her."

Poirot leaned back in the armchair.He took a deep breath, looked at the lunatic, nodded three times, and sighed. "Miss," said he, "you have much to say. I was groping my way in the dark; and you gave me a light. There is a point in it that I don't quite understand, but it's clear now." He stood up . "How's Derek?" Reynolds asked. "Who knows? One thing I want to say is that I am not satisfied. I, Hercule Poirot, am not satisfied!" He got up to go.Reynolds walked him to the door. "I should be glad if I could be of any help to you," said the young girl.

"You've done me a favor. You haven't forgotten elements when everything is blurry." He arrived on time for dinner.Papopolus and his daughter have arrived.The Greek looks especially dignified and dignified today.More solemn than the elders of the patrilineal society.Zia's deep beauty seemed particularly modest today.The dinner party was very lively.Poirot was particularly lively, joking and smiling from time to time.He told some stories and interesting things he had experienced, and sometimes looked at Zia affectionately.The food is expensive and the wine is top-notch.

When the dinner was about to end, Papopolos asked politely: "How about that hint I gave you last time? Have you mounted that horse yet?" "I am in touch with my master at the racetrack," replied Poirot.The eyes of the two met. "Is it a famous horse?" "No," said Poirot, "it's a 'faint horse,' in racing jargon." "Oh, oh," agreed Papopolos thoughtfully. "Now let's try our luck at the roulette, what do you think, sir and madam?" Poirot suggested. They sat apart at the roulette.Poirot looked only at Zia, and Papopolos shook his legs.

Poirot was unlucky.Zia, on the contrary, had quietly put several thousand-franc bills in front of her. "I don't want to play anymore," she said listlessly. Poirot's small eyes blinked twice. "Excellent!" he exclaimed. "You are indeed the daughter of Papopolos, Miss Zia. It is the highest art of life to be able to stop playing cards in good time." He looked around. "Your father has gone somewhere," he said indifferently. "If it's convenient for you, I'll fetch your coat, and we'll go for a walk in the garden together."

But he didn't go straight to the locker room. .What the hell are the treacherous Greeks doing?He is very interested in it.He crossed the hall, and under the palm leaves outside the vestibule door he saw Papopolus engaging in a passionate conversation with a newcomer.This lady is Millie.Poirot's curiosity was satisfied.As when he came, he returned to the hall without making a sound, and put his coat on Zia's shoulders.Then, the two walked in the garden at night. "It's in this place that people are often killed," Zia said. Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "Isn't man himself made by accident? Isn't it nice? Eat, drink, breathe some fresh air. It would be a fool to throw away all these good things in life. Maybe because there is no money, maybe because Broken love. Love demands as much as money demands."

Zia laughed. "Don't laugh at love," said Poirot, nodding with his raised forefinger, "you, young and beautiful..." "You must know that I am thirty-three years old, Monsieur Poirot, and seventeen years, as you told papa, when you were in Paris helping papa out of trouble." "If I were to come and see you, I would hardly see that you are that old." Poirot said tenderly. "You look the same now as you did then. Only a little thinner, a little paler, a little more serious. You were sixteen years old and had just finished high school. Not quite a girl, not quite a young woman. You were charming then." , Very sweet, Miss Zia." "I was only sixteen years old at that time." Zia said, "Like a silly goose." "That's possible," said Poirot. "Anyway, one is credulous at sixteen. Anyone who says something believes it, doesn't he?" He might have caught the keen sideways glance of the antique dealer's daughter, but he still didn't look at her.He continued to talk as if talking in a dream. "At the time, it was a very interesting story. Your father doesn't know the ins and outs of it to this day." "he does not know?" "When he asked me about the details, I replied: I will return the things you lost safely. Please don't ask too much! Do you know? Why do I say this to him ?” "I don't know." Zia replied coldly. "Then I'll tell you. For that pale, thin, serious girl has taken my heart." "I really don't understand what you're talking about?" Zia was a little annoyed. "Really? Have you forgotten Antonio Pilezio?" He felt Zia hold her breath for a moment. "He was your father's assistant. An assistant can't keep his eyes on the master's daughter, can he? Especially if the assistant is young and beautiful. Because people talk endlessly about love, so We ought to speak of other things, too, such as the attractive piece of jewelry which your father was in charge of, as you yourself so aptly remarked, by the folly and credulity of a young When her elders revealed the whereabouts of this priceless treasure, she would not have any other thoughts. Then, this treasure suddenly disappeared, it was a disaster from heaven! Poor little girl! She was frightened, very frightened To say or not to say? At this time a young man came, a man named Hercule Poirot came. As if by magic, he came back again, but then he posed a series of difficult problems to the girl question." "You know it all? Who told you? Was it Antonio?" Poirot shook his head. "No one told me," he said calmly. "I guessed it! Did I guess right? Didn't I? If a detective doesn't have the ability to guess riddles, then the detective can't do much." Zia walked beside him in silence.Then arrogantly asked: "Is there anything you want from me?" "I want your help." "How did you know I was going to help you?" "I don't know, it's just my hope." "But what if I can't do anything? Will you expose me to my father?" "Not at all. I'm not a blackmailer." "However, if I refuse to help you..." Zia said in a drawn out tone. "Then feel free to refuse. So be it." "Why do you want me..." She didn't go on. "I'll show you. Women are generous. If someone does something for them, they try to repay it if they can." There was another silence.Afterwards, Zia said: "My father has already given you a hint. I don't believe I can add anything to this." Although Poirot was disappointed, he did not show it. "Very well then," he said briskly. "Let's talk about something else." He went on talking again, babbling on and on.On the contrary, Qi Ya was in a dull mood, and just mechanically agreed.When they approached the casino again, it was obvious that she had made a decision. "M. Poirot." "Miss Zia?" "I want to help you." "You are so kind!" There was another silence.Poirot was in no hurry to hurry her.He waited patiently. "Oh, really," said Zia, "why can't I tell you? My father was very careful, too careful. But you told me that you were looking for the murderer, not the jewelry. I Believe me. You guessed it right, we came to Nizha just for the gem. Someone made an appointment with my father to deliver here. The gem is in the hands of the man. Besides, I can also ask You imply who made the deal with my father." "The Marquis?" asked Poirot in a low voice. "Yes, the Marquis." "Have you seen the Marquis, madam?" "I've seen it once, but it's not clear. It's through a key." "It's not easy to look at it that way," said Poirot sympathetically. "But you have seen him at last. Would you recognize him if you saw him again?" Zia shook her head. "He wears a mask." "Young, or old?" "He's got white hair. Maybe it's a wig, maybe it's not. I don't believe he's very old. The way he walks looks young, and so does his voice." "His voice?" asked Poirot thoughtfully. "Well, his voice. Can you hear his voice, Miss Zia?" "I believe I can hear it." "You're interested in him, aren't you? That's why you look at him through the keyhole." Zia nodded. "Yes, I was curious. I've heard a lot about him. He's no ordinary thief. He might be the hero of an adventure novel." "It may be so," replied Poirot thoughtfully. "But there is more to this than I am going to tell you, and there is a fact which may be more useful to you." "What is that?" asked Poirot urgently. "As I told you, the jewel was delivered to my father at Niza. I have not seen the man who delivered it, but..." "what?" "One thing I know, the delivery person is a woman!"